Terrell (A.K.A) Pharaoh a well known drug lord who runs the streets of Yonkers New York, is facing problems everywhere he turns. With people out to kill him and the police hot on his tracks Pharaoh’s empire is soon to crumble. After reportedly being dead, he leaves behind his protégé and younger brother (Serious) who tries to cope with the mysterious death of his brother, holding down the family, and the temptation of the streets. Strapped with anger and greed young Serious is ready to lay law to all who opposes his movement and seek revenge on those who were linked to his brother’s death. With his child hood sweetheart ( Laura) a well educated diva assisting his campaign serious quickly builds his own empire while taking no shorts. With all the power and respect in the palm of his hands, Serious quickly learns that his life in the fast lane comes with consequences he never expected. The harsh reality of the streets and the cardinal rule of draw first ask questions last.
Draw is a book about how crime led life can start from the infection of one individual and ripple through a family to a community and through a city take a journey into this cinematic street epic.
Excerpt
See my brother was hard-body. A well-respected and highly feared drug lord in the streets. He never took shit from nobody, especially when it came to his money. Everybody gonna try a motherfucker once, at least until examples are made, and that was how my brother gave it up. A vicious mutha fuckin disciplinarian. I remember walking into my building right when my brother was putting in work. You know every now and then you get a dickhead that don’t heed warning, who don’t recognize that a boss about his money gone know when his packages get tampered. It’s a hard lesson. Nobody noticed me ease into the building. They didn’t realize that I was standing there, watching. Homeboy on his knees, back against the wall, my brother in front of him, blood spray spread out along the wall, polled at my brothers feet, glazed around the table leg he held in his hand. The man face looked chewed, bloodied and swollen. A hard sight. I mean, I knew my brother wasn’t a good guy, but now I knew that he was a beast. “Oh shit!” the words slipped out of my mouth. My brother turned, then shouted, “Spike! How the fuck he get in here? You pose to be watching the door!” But my brother didn’t wait for a response, “Sin, take your little ass upstairs…..NOW!” My eyes stayed on homeboy for a few seconds watching the blood ooze from the bash wounds. It wasn’t until he fell to the side that I snapped out of my trance. By then my brother had spun on his heels and was facing me with that table leg. I saw the screws protruding from the tip still dripping. When I looked up at his eyes I knew I had to obey. I started past the man who was laid out. I tensed when he grabbed my leg. On his side, one arm stretched out, he begged for help I couldn’t give him. I remember feeling nothing at all, no remorse as I watched the constant flow begin now to pool under his chin. I snatched from his grip, “get the fuck off me!” I tried to play hard but the truth was, the scene alone had me jittery. Then my brother dropped the table leg and pulled a gun from his waist. With a brutal shove he pushed the barrel of the gun into the man’s mouth I continued my shrugged toward the elevator. My hands were all of a sudden trembling, fuck it, I was shook. I couldn’t even push the damn button without concentrating. But those types of memories stick with you forever. It remains as a tactic lesson long after the sight stops turning your stomach.
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